


Superstition

by samskeyti



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samskeyti/pseuds/samskeyti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment looked back on. </p><p>For the kink bingo shaving kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superstition

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a larger scenario where Utivich returns to Paris post-war.

After the war, Smithson found himself keeping away from New York. Far away from Boston. Away from all the places they’d talked about going, the ones in a secret, jealously kept spot at the back of their wildest hopes, where they sometimes believed they were going to be.

Though you’d think France would be the last place on earth for Smitty to go, he didn’t know Paris at all, really and he trusted it in a way he’d never trust Boston or New York again. Those cities were unpredictable, throwing up brief snatches of things that he remembered thinking in the close, desperate _after_ , when he felt surrounded, overrun by touch and heat and sweat, with the building and shattering of Donny fucking him still tingling on his skin and he knew he’d never forget Donny’s eyes, gone black and quiet after. They’d thread their fingers together, stay palm to palm and Donny’d rest his head in the curve of Smitty’s shoulder, turn so his breath was hot on Smitty’s neck and then Smitty’d see him, them, in frames from a movie of the future.

They were vivid, hopeful flickerings — Yankee voices, the summer steam rising off the asphalt, a sniff of coffee, a gleaming floor, just mopped. An arch of letters gilding a window. It’s spring and they’re looking in from the sidewalk, holding hands. He remembers shivering, sliding his arms around Donny’s waist while he tried to get his thoughts to stop.

Paris doesn’t throw those at him, not so much. It’s not likely he’ll turn a corner and have a faded poster for soap send him tumbling into hearing Donny. He’d say he was going to run a barber shop and Smitty could sometimes believe that it wasn’t just Donny running his mouth. He thinks he first believed him after they smashed the tiny scratched up mirror, the last one, and seven years seemed an impossible time span, vast and grandiose when all it would take was an instant. Donny looked pissed for a moment then Smitty started laughing, thin and off-kilter and Donny demanded to know what was up, what the fuck. At last Smitty held up one of the shards and said, “We’ve got _seven years_ ,” like they’d won the lottery and though Donny knew, he _knew_ they’d nothing like that he reached and scuffed at Smitty’s filthy stubble with his thumb and grinned and said, softer than was like him, “Guess we do.”

His hands on Smitty’s face as he shaved him were firm and easy, and each time Smitty glanced up Donny’s eyes flicked from his work to catch his, lingering more each time until Smitty, fearing a nick or worse, bit his lip and kept his eyes shut.

These hands were a world of practice from his own fingers, that turned tentative and restless as he cupped Donny’s jaw.

Donny half-smiled, smiled, knowing and mocking and Smitty felt his cheeks redden and his mouth dry out as he tried to finish as fast as he could. He left a patch of beard underneath one side of his chin but he couldn’t bring himself to correct it now that Donny was watching his every move, looking at his burning face, his mouth, up to his eyes then at his lips again and Smitty had always understood that Donny didn’t smooch, he didn’t romance, he fucked and he wrestled and sometimes he’d twist his fingers in Smitty’s hair but that was all. The stubble fitted under the pads of two fingers, held there for a moment that began to turn weird and elastic before he pulled his hand away.

He let the razor drop and Donny didn’t stop him as he leant towards him, his heart pounding like he was dashing into all the bad luck in the world, and it was theirs. Promised to them, so he wanted to be reckless with it. Donny’s hands caught his face, he stroked little circles like he was admiring his handiwork and he made a deep noise of approval as they met, opening up for Smitty’s kiss so suddenly, so completely that Smitty grabbed at his arms, both fists catching at his sleeves as if he’d thought he was about to fall.


End file.
